Iridescent
by Rainbowrunner01
Summary: She just wants to go home. He's still trying to figure out why a girl from another world keeps stalking him. She thinks he's annoying. He's intrigued. She wants nothing to do with him...too bad he doesn't quite see it that way. Sinbad/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Purple and Gold**

_And never I saw_

_That open door_

_So appealing as it was before_

* * *

Sand.

It swirled and rippled, thrown high into the air by the howling winds.

A hot gust of wind rushed passed her face, pushing the coarse granules across her cheeks, through her hair and partially up her nose. Her bare unprotected limbs stung from both sun burn and the small grazes the tiny grains left on her skin. It was everywhere, in her clothes, in her ears, even in her teeth.

Three quarter pants, a sleeveless top and sneakers were certainly not the best choice for one to be traveling through a desert in, but then again she hadn't really gotten out of bed this morning expecting to end up in the middle of nowhere. After what felt like hours of walking, she still could not find a single sign of human civilization.

Various scenarios of how she had ended up here included alien abduction, she was very _very_ high, or she was the only survivor after total global annihilation.

Hmm, the former and the latter seemed highly unlikely, but being high…well that was a lot more plausible than alien abduction, perhaps someone had spiked her drink last night.

Another gust of blistering wind battered her form.

Well whatever they put in it had to be ridiculously potent; god when she woke from this ridiculous delusion she would have the worst frigging hangover ever.

That thought brought a grin to her lips—and another mouthful of sand. With a cough and splutter she tried her best to rid of the dirt, but there was always that elusive grain right at the back that refused to budge.

God how she _hated_ sand.

If she ever woke from this horrid dream then she swore she would never step foot on a beach again.

When her sand-filled shoe hit against something hard, she was pulled off balance, tripping and face planting right into the yellow sands.

. . . .did she mention that she hated sand?

With a growl she pushed herself out of the grit, spitting out what felt like a desert from her mouth. She'd tripped, _tripped_! How the hell did one even trip on sand—wait, her foot had snagged on something hard.

Surely enough when she looked behind her she could see something lying half buried in sand. Pulling her weary body around, she bent on her knees to inspect the object in the sand. It seemed to be a mass of discarded material—hopefully large enough to make a sun shade. A hand reached out, brushing away the granules, eventually sand gave way to skin, hair, a head and torso.

Eyes widened.

She hadn't tripped over just some random rock, but an actual _person_. She curiously lent closer to the figure's face noticing something glinting red under the harsh sunlight.

The metallic scent of copper.

She recoiled.

The red on him was _blood_.

Oh God oh god oh god! Please don't be dead. Shuffling herself forward on her knees, trembling fingers reached out to touch the clammy skin of his neck. There was nothing for a few moments, till finally she felt a light pulse.

A relieved sigh escaped her lips.

Dammit this was ridiculous, just how vivid could a delusion be? If an almost dead man lying in the middle of the desert was her subconscious' way of telling her something…well she had to be pretty bad in the head.

Wait, why did she care anyway? This man was a delusion, a figment of her imagination, whether he was dead or not was completely trivial. In that case—her eyes flickered to the baggy clothes and copious amounts of jewelry he wore—he probably wouldn't mind if she relieved him of his clothes as they would provide much better cover than hers did from the harsh sun. Just as she was leaning over him, she heard a groan from beneath her as the figure shifted. Unfortunately with his sudden movement, the hand she was using to stabilise herself slipped. A squeak escaped her lips as she fell, both her hands shot out fixing into the course sand, barely stopping herself from face planting straight into the man's body. The mentioned man moved again, sand tumbling off his form, a soft groan passing from his lips. Eye lids fluttered, cracking half open.

Amber gold met indigo blue.

And the world stopped.

Purple—yes _purple_—hair the shade of violets, eyes like burnished gold and handsome features.

Even through sand partially covered his form and he had blood caked across his face, he was undoubtedly one of the most striking men she had ever laid eyes on.

And this man—this figment of her imagination…she was currently straddling him.

Silence stretched on.

The man had yet to make a sound, or move, or shift his cloudy gaze from hers.

She gulped feeling her face go bright red.

"A-a-ahh…t-this isn't what it looks like!" She squeaked.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ delusion. Wake up already!

Purple brows furrowed, lips parted, a breath was drawn, she could help but lean closer in anticipation….

"_. . . Well this is certainly one of the weirder things I've woken up to…"_

Gibberish. Complete and utter gibberish. She couldn't understand a single word he was saying.

With a groan she rolled off the man and flopped onto the hot sand beside him.

Great. She was completely stoned, in the middle of a godforsaken desert, lying next to an exotic cosplayer, who spoke a foreign language that sounded similar to Arabic. If liver failure didn't kill her than sunstroke would. Hmm—she eyed his purple sand covered hair, taking a strand between her dry fingers. It was pretty soft for a hallucination—well at least she got to die next to someone attractive…ha that sounded so stupid.

The sun beat down furiously above her, relentless, merciless. The world was spinning, her ears ringing, nothing quite making sense. Dark eyes took on the form of the amber-eyed man as he—with much difficulty it seemed—rolled onto his side facing her.

Nonsense again.

It looked as if he was trying to talk to her—not that she cared, she was happy to let him prattle on—she was just so tired…

Perhaps unconsciously, she shuffled closer to his larger form, tugging at his blood soaked top, pulling it over her head. The minimal shade the cloth offered was bliss, she sighed contently, barely even stirring when the strange man prodded her.

. . .

The man stared at the boy once more with an odd look on his face…he was strange, with odd clothing and effeminate features—could almost be mistaken as a girl in the right light—although he couldn't be sure as he could barely see straight anyway.

A pained smirk flittered across his features; he was lying with a peculiar boy in the middle of a desert, slowly bleeding out. Somehow he always seemed to end up in these situations.

Ja'far was going to kill him.

Looking at the boy again he sighed, considering they were both in the same situation the least he could do was offer him some shade. He barely had enough strength to wrap his arm around the boy's waist and pull him to his side.

Poor thing, probably wouldn't last till the next morning…but neither might he . . .

* * *

**A/N: I'll be honest, I'm not very well versed in all of the intricacies of the Magi universe, so if I got something wrong don't hesitate to tell me.**

**Why a Sinbad/Oc story? Well I find his character quite interesting, and I would find it amusing to see him in an actual relationship, not just hitting on every girl he comes across...not that he actually realizes that she a girl. And to be frank, I have found very few Sinbad/oc stories written well or believably (not hard considering how complex a character Sin is).**

**As for the gender confusion...well Sinbad is injured, can't see straight and the Oc is dressed in a somewhat boyish fashion.**

**I'm not even sure this was written acceptably, so I may not continue this fic...so yeah.**

** Rainbowrunner01 riding her rainbow out of here~**


	2. Chapter 2

**White and Grey **

_Sway_

_Up and down_

_Sway_

_Without a sound_

_Sway_

_I prefer my feet _on_ the ground_

* * *

Swaying.

Back and forth, again and again and again…a constant motion, like a little boat being gently rocked by the swell of the waves.

Perhaps this was a somewhat inadequate analogy as the swaying was anything but gentle, feasibly the shifting oscillation was more like some particularly daring—and stupid, she might add—amusement park ride that children dragged their poor parent on…of course in this case she was the parent.

Her lower abdomen was pressed against something incredibly bony, the hard object was pushing painfully against her gut giving her the feeling of wanting to retch. Her arms were hanging limply—along with the rest of her upper torso—awkwardly positioned upside down with the blood rushing to her head. Each and every sway the _thing _made under her was jarring, it made her head hurt.

"_Do you have any _idea_ how stupid you were?" _A voice accused in Gibberish.

"_Yes…"_ Another sighed in the same tongue.

"_Getting drunk, flirting with girls,"_

"_I know…"_

"—_flirting with the Chief-man's _daughter_ no less!"_

She winced at the volume of the voice.

"_To be fair, she _was_ really pretty…"_ The other added sheepishly.

"_That is no excuse! Because of your actions the men of the village decided to attack us! And considering you were so intoxicated you could barely form a coherent sentence, let alone defend yourself—"_

"_I wasn't _that_ drunk." _One of them muttered.

"_You were practically beaten within an inch of your life, and dumped in the middle of a godforsaken desert! If I hadn't found you when I did you could have very well ended up dead!"_

God these two were loud…couldn't they quiet down even a little? It would be considerate seeing as she had the worst freaking headache in existence.

"_Ah, could have, I _could have_ ended up dead. But as you can see,"_ The thing beneath her jerked, followed by a harsh intake of breath.

"_I-I'm perfectly fi—nhg—fine."_ He wheezed, it almost sounded painful.

"_You won't be if you reopen up all your wounds. Is carrying that child really necessary? You're injured enough as it is."_

"_It's fine. Plus the kid's my responsibility since I found him—well at least until we can drop him off at the nearest town with a healer, that is." _The voice closest to her replied.

"_Him? Hmm, I don't think _he's_ from any of the villages around here, or even this country for that matter, not with such strange clothing or colourings—"_

After that she simply stopped listening to the unintelligible ramblings, choosing instead to brave opening her eyes.

The first thing she became aware of was white cloths and purple—was that hair?—swishing side to side. Seeing as she was somehow upside down, it was hard to distinguish what exactly it was she was looking at.

Clothes, hair, legs, feet, a bony lump pushing into her abdomen that felt uncannily familiar to a shoulder…holy…was she being carried over someone's _shoulder_?

She squirmed—feeling an arm around her thighs—trying to lift her head so she could figure out who had the audacity to carry her like a sack of potatoes—that and almost touch her butt.

"_It seems your passenger is finally awake."_

Her head snapped—or well at least tried to—in the direction of the voice.

A young pale man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with cold greyish-black eyes the colour of smoke and—honest to god—stark white hair that framed his face, which had a splash of freckles across his cheeks. He seemed to have on a green headdress and he was garbed in long tan robes edged in green.

Cosplayer. Definitely a cosplayer.

Two questions suddenly came to the forefront of her mind.

Why was there a cosplayer standing behind her and why in God's name was one carrying her over their shoulder?

She desperately scoured her memories for any possible explanation as to how she got here—nothing, except walking through a burning desert for hours on end, something about aliens, being high and sexy foreign men with exotic colourings.

Bizarre things like that only happened in acid induced delusions, so judging from her pounding head it wasn't too farfetched to say she had a hangover.

"_Hm? He is?"_ The person beneath her said in slight surprise.

"…_Sin, I don't think he's a bo—" _The white-haired cosplayer was cut off as the other continued speaking, almost as if he hadn't heard him at all.

"_That's great, now we can find out who he is. Hey kid, are you awake?"_ The foreign words were accompanied by a good natured pat to her backside.

The next thoughts that ran through her head were, 'Oh my god, did he just?' and 'He did!' not too soon followed by 'Holy, that pervert just _spanked_ me?! My God, they're not cosplayers at all! I'm being kidnapped! Then somehow finally descending into 'I'm going to die, or even worse!'

She let out a squeal, starting to struggle and squirm in a panicked frenzy.

"Noo! Let go of me you perverted freak!"

The man holding her let out a pained grunt, unceremoniously dropping her to the ground. She landed her back, winding herself in the process.

The two men were staring at her, the white-haired one with bemusement, the other with annoyance as he rubbed his ribs.

"_Hey, what did you do that for?"_ The purple haired man snapped—she assumed he was addressing her.

"_That wasn't our language he just spoke. I don't believe sh—_he _understands you. "_ The other said, his head turning the other kidnapper.

"_A foreigner? No wonder he spooked, we must have scared him."_

The white haired one gained a look or annoyance._ "_We_? Don't bring me into this, you were the one holding her—him."_

She eyed them warily—particularly the quite real looking sword at one of the men's hip—slowly shifting backwards and away from her captors. Upon her efforts to sneak away the clunky old iPod—which she had owned for a great deal of years and was on the last leg of its life—that was sitting conveniently unnoticed in her pant pocket, decided to go off at its loudest volume.

LMAFO's 'Sexy and I Know it' blared from its speakers giving her a fright.

"Dammit," She muttered, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the iPod. "Stupid piece of crap. I should have replaced this years ago…" Her words trailed off as she lifted her head to come face to face with the sharp edge of what appeared to be a dagger of some sort. The white-haired man who had been standing at least a few metres from her was now directly before her, his sharp grey eyes focused on the iPod in her hand.

He said something sharply; when she didn't answer he pushed his glorified kitchen knife closer to her throat, repeating the same set of confusing sounds.

At this the purple-haired man's eyes widened in alarm.

"_Ja'far! What are you doing?! You can't attack an unarmed chi—"_

"_That child is not unarmed. That contraption he's holding looks like some kind of sound magic tool. It could be dangerous for all we know!"_

It seemed the other man had no words to respond.

She gulped.

What had she done wrong, did her old dinosaur of an iPod offend him somehow? From the way they were looking at it, it was almost as if they'd never seen one before…

A thought came to her then.

Completely forgetting she had something sharp and pointy pressed to her throat, she raised the iPod slowly. The man tensed, eyes flickering to it warily.

Then she pressed play.

A loud song blasted from the small device, making her wince at the jarring less-than-high-quality speakers. When she got home she was so getting a new iPod, one without buttons, and that didn't weigh a brick.

She had expected many things to happen, maybe a jolt of surprise or even nothing at all, but not for the man to literally jump backwards like a spooked cat and shove his hands over his ears as if he were afraid the sound would make his brain turn to mush.

Was this guy—

She waved the iPod at him experimentally; he abruptly took a step backwards.

—Seriously scared of a _music player?_ Hmm, she could definitely use this to her advantage.

On the other hand, the purple-haired man hadn't even moved at all, he only eyed the device in her hands with a sort of wary curiosity…although his hand stayed hovering over the hilt of his sword—for some reason she highly doubted it was a prop.

She stepped forward—and with much more daring than she felt—swished the iPod in front of her in a threatening manner, as if she were holding a highly lethal bomb, not an electronic device. It sort of reminded her of an overdramatised action scene in a move.

"Stay back, this is highly dangerous!"

The white-haired man tensed like he was waiting for something to explode.

The seconds ticked by as both of the cosplayers waited in silence for something—_anything_ to happen.

Nothing did, all the while the song continued to blare.

"_Hmm,"_ the violet haired one tilted his head to the side, _"you know, I don't think it's a weapon."_ He began to casually stride towards her, much to the other's alarm.

Her eyes narrowed as she wildly waved the iPod about—probably looking ridiculous no doubt.

"Don't come any closer, I'm warning you!" She threatened, although it didn't seem to be working as he ignored her and continued on with his advance.

Dammit, so that hadn't worked, well she could always _throw_ it at him. She had no chance to actually follow through with the thought as the man was already looming over her with his good extra two heads of height. She squeaked when he tugged the device from her small hands, bringing it eye-level to inspect it thoroughly.

"_In fact it must be some sort of music box, all the instruments must be magically hidden somewhere!" _He said brightly. Gold eyes—so intense they couldn't be anything other than contacts—gazed at her with an oddly calculating look.

She got a feeling of anxiousness run down her spine.

"_Although I wonder what a kid like you is doing in possession of such an advanced magical item?" _He took a step forward.

She gulped. Nope, _way_ too close there buddy.

Suddenly something tugged in her stomach, like someone had tied a rope around her waist and pulled. The ground seemed to give way, and she was falling through space with a scream.

. . .

And Sinbad, King of Sindria could only stare agape at the space the boy had just been moments ago, the strange magic device still clutched in his hand.

Sinbad looked to Ja'far who was mirroring his expression.

"W…what the hell just happened?!" he said, dumbstruck.

"I have absolutely no idea…" Ja'far muttered, still staring at the space the foreigner had just been.

Sinbad glanced down at the magic device, this was definitely worth investigating.

…Just who the hell was that boy?

* * *

**A/N: So after much begging and pleading I have decided to continue this story, although I'm not entirely sure how confident I am in it. I really have no idea where this is going, at all, but we'll see neh?**

**So I'm not exactly up to date on the manga, and I've only watched the anime, so if something about the story seems unbelievable don't be too surprised, I'm not an expert.**

**I was quite surprised by how many people liked this so that must be a good sign right?**

**About the Oc's name, that'll be next chapter.**

**Rainbowrunner01 riding her rainbow out of here~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Auburn and Indigo**

_Down, falling down._

_Through the sky and to the ground._

_Falling and falling_

_Down, down, down…_

* * *

Have you ever had the feeling of walking down stairs, in the middle of the night, and then the next step isn't there—the feeling of momentary panic and vertigo—and then suddenly your foot hits the next step, only it was just further down then you had judged. Yeah well, that about described her own predicament perfectly.

One moment she was standing on solid ground, the next it was gone from underneath her, as if it had never been there in the first place. And she was falling, through space, being tugged down, down, down. She didn't even have the chance to scream before it was over just as abruptly as it began.

She hit the ground, _hard,_ her ankles jarring from the force. Something cold and wet made her shoes lose traction with the ground beneath her as she wildly teetered, lost balance and smashed into the pavement skull first.

Dazed indigo-blue eyes stared up into the grey cloudy sky, not fully comprehending the feeling of water soaking into her once hot sun baked clothes.

Noises.

"Mum, look! There's a lady lying in a puddle!"

"Sweetie don't be silly, people don't just—oh my god!"

The sound of feet stomping through water.

"Mummy, is she dead?"

"Be quiet Michel—"

She felt something touch her.

"Crap, she's bleeding…"

"MUM, you said a bad word!"

The sound of a tone dial.

"Michel not now! I'm calling the ambulance."

Blobs of colour moved across her vision. What was happening? Was she tripping or something?

Sirens, so loud, so very loud. Go away, go away…

…Yep, definitely tripping.

Blackness rose up and swallowed her.

. . . . .

* * *

King Sinbad paced—as he had been doing for a whole two hours straight—back and forth across the same stretch of carpet, restlessly turning the strange magical device over and over in his hands. Often times he would switch his pacing for sitting, only to fidget and go right back to pacing. At this rate the carpet would have a permanent a tread mark in it.

Three days.

Three whole frigging days and he still could not get the strange boy off his mind. The boy who he had woken up to—straddling him amusingly enough—half dead in the desert, the boy he had proceeded to—after regaining consciousness—carry halfway across said desert until a certain white-haired vassal found him. The same boy who had ungraciously hit, kicked and screamed at him for his troubles, who spoke a completely different language, wore ridiculously strange clothes, and threatened him with what he was sure was a _music box_ of sorts—or at least he assumed so as he couldn't exactly understand the boy but had only judged from his body language—and then proceeded to disappear without warning or so much as leaving a single trace. Except for a strange magical item that he couldn't figure out how to use exactly.

Ironically the one person who could probably solve the enigma of the device was currently in Sindria, a whole week's journey away—or at least few hours flight if he djinn equipped.

Funnily enough, he had most definitely seen stranger happenings on his many travels throughout the course of the years, so that was why he could not understand for the life of him why he was suddenly so…so _preoccupied _over a mysterious foreign boy he would probably never see again. And no matter what he seemed to do he couldn't stop thinking about him and the incident.

Stopping abruptly, Sinbad turned his golden-eyed gaze to his perhaps closest vassal, Ja'far. The said man had been seated in the same position watching as his king paced.

"Ja'far, tell me what you noticed about the boy again."

The former assassin sighed, mentally preparing his list of observations for the fifth time that day.

"His clothing was made of a particularly strange fabric, to be precise I noticed the double stitching on both his shirt and pants were perfectly parallel to one another, not a single misplaced stitch, a feat even the most experienced and talented seamstresses would find exceedingly difficult. Furthermore the style of her—_his_," he quickly corrected himself "dress was unlike any culture I have ever encountered, heard nor read about. The language he spoke only further backs this up, as far as I can tell it was not a dialect of the common tongue, nor was it the Torren language, which rules out just about every identifiable inhabitants in the known world. Colourings wise, his auburn almost copper-like hair and dark blue eyes do not fully match the description of any know race either. Logically it can be concluded that he must come from some yet as of undiscovered ethnic group of peoples. Perhaps from one of the unexplored regions of the world."

The King was still pacing but he was nodding thoughtfully in accordance to Ja'far's words.

"Hmm, quite true that." Sinbad ran a fingertip over the circular disk set into the center of the lower half of the magical device, noting its strangely smooth and polished texture.

"Sin."

Gold eyes blinked, locking with smoky grey.

"Why are you suddenly so interested in this gir—_boy_? You haven't stopped talking about him for three days, in fact by my count this would be the fifth time you have asked me the same question. You do realize you will probably never see him again right?" The former-assassin said sternly.

Purple brows furrowed as the king came to a stop, the copious amounts of jewelry he wore _chinking _together at the abrupt movement.

"Maybe you're right, but this—" he held up the magical device. "Is far too coincidental. A random child shows up in the middle of the desert, wears strange clothing, doesn't match any race of human in the known world, speaks a completely different language—which I was under the impression the only other language you _could_ speak is Torren—has what I'm assuming is an incredibly advanced magical item and then just…disappears without even a single transfer circle. Something like that doesn't just happen for no apparent reason."

Ja'far simply raised an eyebrow.

The king looked to the side almost guiltily.

"F-fine, I'll put it on a backburner for now, but I'm still getting Yamuraiha to investigate the device." He muttered.

Yes, Ja'far was right, he was becoming too preoccupied over something so trivial. The boy would probably never show up again anyway.

…

…Of course he had no way of knowing that in a few months from now he most certainly would be having second thoughts.

. . . . .

* * *

The beeping of the monitors and the buzzing of the florescent lights, the echoing of footsteps and the idle chatter of people going about their day…all of it. All of the background noise… it was killing her, slowly and painfully turning her brain into a congealed mush—probably the consistency of one of those bananas you find sitting at the back of the pantry that are so rotten they leak when opened. She imagined when her brain began to drip out of her ears the sight would be quite one to behold.

And why you may ask was her brain liquefying from some random noises?

Well, simple, she had a hangover—the second, and by far the worst she had ever experienced.

She groaned.

Dammit! She never should have listened to her best friend.

We'll go out drinking, he said. I'll be _fun_, he said. Going out for a night won't hurt, he said.

Like hell it won't!

Because she had listened to Aiden against her own better judgment, because she knew she had a low-tolerance to alcohol and _because_ she had let her guard down and someone had obviously spiked her drink. Leading her to think she was going for a morning run, only to end up going on an acid trip instead—to some weird desert where she had almost been burned alive and had tripped over a half dead man, she might add.

"Alex?"

Oh no it hadn't ended there; she had woken up to find herself being carted over some random cosplayer's shoulder, who probably has less than noble intentions towards her, and had somehow ended up spooking another white haired cosplayer with her _iPod _of all things. Only to suddenly come back to reality by apparently slipping in a puddle and cracking her head on the pavement—or so the Doctors informed her.

"Alex!"

Well, nothing like the smell of LSD in the morning.

Actually she'd read somewhere that psychedelic episodes and the visions that people saw had actual meaning, suggestions as to what the subconscious was thinking. So what the hell did two cosplayers kidnapping a woman, scary iPods and burning deserts even symbolize anyway? Maybe her reoccurring habit of ending up in awkward positions with the purple-haired man was somehow pointing to a growing sexual frustration? . . . no, she'd been told on too many occasions she was a prude—

"—Alexandra Bellmore!" Suddenly came a voice right next to her ear—subsequently her brain just vaporized.

Indigo-blue eyes blinked landing on the pointed expression of a green-eyed auburn haired woman.

"Are you even listening to me?" Ashley said in exasperation.

No—"Yes." She replied automatically.

There was a sigh and a raised eyebrow.

The elderly doctor with the salt and pepper hair looked between the two women with confusion?

"Mrs. Wright, are you sure that Miss Bellmore is well enough to be released, Attention Deficiency can be a direct symptom of concussion—"

"No," Ashley cut him off. "Alex normally does this, she just has an over-active imagination, so don't worry too much."

Indigo eyes narrowed.

The doctor looked down to his medical sheet.

". . .Mrs. Wright it says here that Miss Bellmore is twenty-six." Ergo: adults don't have hyperactive imaginations.

"You'll get used it. Alex can be _special _at times." Ashley replied casually.

Alex sat up glaring at the other woman.

"Please tell me Ash, my _darling_ dearest older sister, that you _didn't_ just imply I was retarded."

The said older sister kept a mostly straight face except the corner of her lips twitched upwards.

"Of course not, my darling dearest baby sister."

The doctor kept glancing back and forth between the two of them, as if he couldn't quite figure out the joke he was not privy to. The man sighed, giving up. He excused himself from the room saying he would be back in a few minutes.

At the absence of the doctor, Ashley's countenance grew more concerned.

"All jokes aside, how are you feeling?"

Like she had been hit over the head with a sledgehammer…_repeatedly_, jumped on, drowned and vaporized, and then stretched really far—

"Fine." Alex said.

"You're hung over aren't you?" As if by those words her headache worsened.

"No." She muttered.

"Alex sweetie," her sister walked over to the hospital bed and ruffled Alex's hair as if she were a child. "I only know of one other time you've ever gotten drunk, and the aftermath wasn't pretty—I should know I was there to clean up after you—and now you look ten times worse." She stated matter-of-factly.

"Gee thanks, nice to know you have so much confidence in my appearance. But it's not my fault anyway. I told Aiden that I'm a lightweight, but no, somehow I get tipsy and someone spikes my drink. Then low and behold I'm sent off to Acid Land, full of weirdly coloured foreigners and deserts. The rest I'm sure you've been filled in on." She grumbled.

"_You_ went out drinking? Who the hell are you and what have you done with my sister?" Ashley said incredulously.

Alex's mood soured as she recalled the depressive state she had been in, just over—by her count—five or so days ago.

"My proposal was rejected…again."

Green eyes widened.

"Alex."

God…sometimes it wasn't fair.

"Hey maybe we should switch jobs? You can be the mediocre, minimum wage Art Student, and I'll be a top-paid highly sought after lawyer instead. Sound fine to you?" She joked half-heartedly.

Ashley frowned, but could clearly see the I-Don't-want-to-talk-about-it look on her sister's face.

"Hn. What does John think of you going out drinking with Aiden?" She questioned, reluctantly changing the subject.

"Nothing, why?"

Ashley rolled her eyes, it seemed Alex was oblivious as ever.

"Aiden is a _man."_ She enunciated slowly.

So what if he was a man why the hell would John care—oh.

"Quite true that, but Aiden is also very gay, and currently has a boyfriend. I really don't think John cares either way."

Nope she definitely couldn't imagine that, Aiden would catfight and John would peacefully try to calm things down.

"Right." Ashley had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Speaking of John, where is he?" Alex said looking around her small private hospital room.

"John? He's been in the waiting room from since before I arrived."

"What why—" Her abrupt movement set off her headache again. "Oww. Why isn't he here?"

Stupid melting brain.

"The medical staff said they only let in next of kin, and apparently that's me."

"Stupid doctors, how the hell doesn't he count as next of kin, he's my fiancée for god's sake!" Alex growled.

"Really don't ask me."

Suddenly the shill _ding_ of a mobile phone message alarm going off rang through the room—and her head. Ashley peered at her phone with a frown.

"Sorry Alex I don't want to leave you like this, but I've got to run, I have a court proceeding in twenty-five minutes. And I've already had it postponed twice."

"Its fine Ash, just go and do your important law-y stuff, leave the moping to me."

Typical, her sister was busy again.

"Law-y stuff? Very eloquent Alexandra."

"Oh shut up, go on shoo, and say hi to Mr. Wright for me!" She called out cheerfully.

As her sister headed out the door, she responded with a "You know Dean hates you calling him that! Bye Alex!"

The room went quiet as the door shut with a click. The smile immediately fell from her face as she slumped into the bed.

Note to self: remind doctors of the dictionary definition of the word fiancée.

God if she had to spend another day in this stupid bed she would go mad.

Another Not to Self: before one decides to have a concussion and get stuck in hospital for five days, pack entertainment/

. . . she should have brought her sketchbook. Automatically her hand reached for an iPod that wasn't there.

Alex blinked, where was that anyway?

Who knew.

…

Of course Alex had no idea that it was currently in the possession of a certain Sindrian King, a whole other world away.

* * *

**A/N: So after many months I finally got around to reading Magi (or a good portion of it at least) and...wow...just wow. There is a hell of a lot of plot, backstory and law to this universe. And I may had to somewhat alter the idea of this story particularly in light of a certain Sinbad being related to _that guy_ (for all those who don't want spoilers) My mind was actually blown. I'm still not sure where all of this story is going but...I guess I'll roll with it for now?**

**Alexandra Bellmore (or Alex for short) is 26, nearly 27 years old (sorry not pairing Sinbad with a girl half his age) who is currently engaged to another man. (There's a plot bunny for you)**

**Just before you ask, no, Sinbad is not in love with Alex, love at first sight just doesn't happen, particularly in the 'Lady Killer of the Seven Seas's' case, he's simply intrigued by the strange 'boy' who showed up carrying a strange advanced magical item. And we all know if Sinbad can find something that benefits Sindria he will use it. **

**And in Alex's case, well that's obvious she's engaged...enough said.**

**Rainbowrunner01 riding her rainbow out of here.**


End file.
